


When Mother Calls.

by skinnylittlered



Series: The prince and I. [1]
Category: Loki's Army - Fandom
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-23
Updated: 2014-09-23
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:03:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2349374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skinnylittlered/pseuds/skinnylittlered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OFC overthinks stuff and her boyfriend, the mighty Asgardian, becomes no longer all that mighty. (prequel to The Birth Plan.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Mother Calls.

I’d half-heartedly succumbed to playing the role of the pennate counterpart in a long-awaited and spitefully begged for good old stuffing of the turkey, entirely uninterested in the activity from the kick off and bored out of my very wit (and a bit more than slightly nauseated) a mere five minutes of interminable hip oscillations in, praying to anyone who’d listen that Heimdall was on a lunch break because, fuck, it was embarrassing enough for the unfortunate god humping me in a fashion so discrepant to his noble upbringing in desperate necessity of release, without the prying eyes of the guard and the silent mockery he would no doubt be subjected to should word of this occurrence ever leave the confines of our shared living quarters. I visibly cringed at the prospect of even more ridicule directed at the man who all my affections were invested into (he halted for a moment, but resumed his uncourtly thrusting after my reflexive signal of well-being), especially as the responsibility of it was laden on _my_ shoulders, since, you see, I’d been cock blocking my not-quite-immortal-but-not-human-either boyfriend for longer than I could possibly admit without uncomfortably squirming, all because of my parents’ preconceived ideas of adequate relationship etiquette which, even as a grown ass woman, I was expected to abide to solely based upon their pertaining to my folks’ idiotic rules and regulations about life and me and my brothers’ behaviour as oxygen consuming creatures, and not at all for their validity or relevance in the real world. I, thus, absolved myself of all guilt in respect of Loki’s not-Jotun blue balls, for that was my elders’ doing and not mine.

“My parents want to meet you,” I found myself blurting out the piece of information that had kept all my orifices dry and my palms very much the opposite for so long a while that I genuinely feared having hit menopause mid-twenties.

His movements subsided abruptly yet again, only for good this time, and, still hovering above me, he opened his mouth as if to say something only to close it back for probable lack of means to express his newfound compassion for the clearly well-reasoned drop in my usually overflowing libido as of late. It went on for three or four times more, each further igniting my already damaging enough anxiety. It was in that nerve wrecking, minute long silence that I turned to God once more, clad in naught but my newly found piety and impaled on a pagan dick that uncomfortably filled me to the brim, reciting the Psalms from somewhere in the back of my head that I thought I would never have to revisit after openly denying the existence of the all-powerful deity that all but fucked me in the ass as a teenager. I was to be proven wrong in my convictions a few years later by being introduced to a rough-faced, white-bearded presence that, not unlike the traditional almighty, called himself father but was, in reality, maybe not just as much of an asshole, yet an asshole nevertheless. In any case, that is a story I’m to disclose on another occasion, in different circumstances.

 “Do tell me, my love, that it is not for this reason that we have not laid together in over four weeks.”

“Uhm…” I cleared my throat mostly to buy some more time and hopefully a vowel, any vowel, really, as I felt myself in desperate need for any means of getting my disbelief across as clearly as possible, thing that, I had a hunch, was not going to take place any time in the near future.

I settled, instead, for repeating his words, “This is not why we haven’t fucked in a month, I suppose…?”

Not prior to awarding me the mightiest eye roll I’d ever been displayed in my life, he dropped his weight on me, groaning as he nuzzled into the crook of my neck. I, as per usual, hoped the wisdom I’d get after so numerous a nail-biting waits would outweigh the inevitable brain damage the stress of them would eventually inflict upon me. When he finally spoke, it was a deadpan statement that I could not by any means refute as much as provide explanation for, neither of which I did in my hardly articulate condition.

“By all that is sacred, my sweet, your idiocy is at times baffling to me.”

He’d better be going somewhere real damned good with this.

 “It is?”

“Indeed so.”

“… _why_?”

He inhaled deeply and I shivered at the barely noticeable suction of his nostrils against my goose bumped skin, then pulled out of me and sat in such a way that I could, still laid on the fine sheets of his four poster, hug his thigh to me as I listened to the patient voice reason its absolute composure.

“The day I ceased counting my years was the day Asgard celebrated my thousand-year-long life, and toasted for the many more millennia to come,” he was looking at me, but by the wistful emptiness of his gaze I could tell he was somewhere far away, fondly reliving long-gone times. “Wishes that they assuredly lament and loathe as we speak and increasingly more by the moment,” his tone briefly faltered but, clearing his throat, he continued. “A thousand years in the Aesir is what you call teenage in Midgard where a while so long as this equates to the rise and fall of an entire dynasty. Basically, what I’m saying is that I’m too old to give a flying fuck about what your parents think of me,” he tenderly brushed back the baby hairs on my forehead, chuckling. “I’m going to meet them over dinner if that’s what they want, and that’s that. I suppose, though, that there won’t be any non-platonic physical interaction between the two of us until then, so I kindly request that you postpone it as little as possible.”

 

~*~

I can feel the throbbing veins against my tongue, the accelerated pulse pleasantly tickling my overly stimulated taste buds, as he fucks my mouth relentlessly behind his stationed car. He’s barked at me to pull over thirty minutes into our drive back home, yanked me out of the vehicle, clasped his belt around my neck and thrust his cock so deep into my throat that tears sprung out the corners of my eyes. And here I am, knees in the dirt, hosiery unquestionably torn, panties soaked through, drooling and gagging around the rigid flesh poking me dead in the larynx, moaning like the filthy slut he keeps reminding me that I am.

A far cry from the well behaved daughter of a vicar I was raised to pretend to be, I should think.

Unlike me, Loki remains ever the gentlemanly royal with perfect manners and dignified posture, a man to forever swear by his word, regardless of any unpredicted constrictions that would drive others to dishonouring themselves and those around them. No, my lover and the impeccable conduct that has not failed at, quite literally, charming my family would not for the world feign being something that he is not, would not betray his convictions or his honesty, fact that is most prominently reflected in little things that he does around people.

For instance now, that he’s just emptied he’s entire load on my face, I can tell for a fact that there’s not a single drop of cum in my hair.


End file.
